


Where Worlds Collide and Days Are Dark

by homosociallyyours, rayvanfox



Series: Let the Sky Fall [6]
Category: James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:08:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homosociallyyours/pseuds/homosociallyyours, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayvanfox/pseuds/rayvanfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>late night chatting in Q branch, complete with tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Worlds Collide and Days Are Dark

All of Q Branch had gone home hours ago, but Q was still hard at work. He’d grown used to long days after the Silva incident, and some nights he simply couldn’t bring himself to leave until he was practically falling asleep on his work. He sighed into the quiet of the room, and tried to re-focus his attention on the project that lay in front of him, but found he couldn’t concentrate. Leaning back to stretch against his chair, he saw a figure silhouetted against the door to Q branch. He recognised the body, clothes, and demeanour instantly, and smiled to himself. “Bond, is that you?” he called.

Bond grunted in the affirmative without changing his position of leaning one shoulder casually against the door frame. He’d been standing there for more than five minutes and was content to observe from that vantage point for a bit longer.

Q turned to double check the clock. “Why on earth are you still here? It's nearly 11 at night.” Not nearly as late as it had felt only moments before. With Bond’s arrival, Q felt a small surge of energy, and he leaned back over his work to check the connection he’d just made.

Bond’s eyes focused on the curve of Q’s neck as he bent over his work, something they’d been doing for the past little while. “Checking up on things. I hope this isn't a normal hour for you…”

“Oh, not really,” Q lied. He’d been in Q Branch past 11 for the past 3 nights at least. “I'm here on an especially important project.”

These days Bond rarely attempted sleep before he’d emptied at least a dozen clips at the range and he’d seen the lights on late in Q branch multiple times in the past couple weeks, but he wasn’t about to let on that this wasn’t the first time he’d watched Q work alone at odd hours. “You know, Q branch employees are supposed to sleep after all.”

“Is that so?” Q replied with a huff. “Aren’t our agents meant to sleep as well?”

“We sleep, we just never keep normal hours.” Bond failed to mention that the concept of abnormal hours applied to the number as well as their placement, nor did he admit to the chemical assistance usually required to achieve those few.

Q nodded. “Ah, then that's why they have us working on a new vampire super agent drug.” He looked at Bond with a feigned seriousness. “But I shouldn't have told you. I do hope you’ll be able to keep it a secret from the other agents, at least.”

The light in Q’s eyes, magnified by his glasses and trained on Bond in such a way as to make him look practically impish, was enthralling even at the distance of twenty feet. Slightly too late, Bond reacted to the joke. “Ha. I’ll do my best to keep this conversation confidential.” He pushed off the door frame and slow-prowled towards Q’s workstation, needing to be closer to that gaze.

As Bond moved closer, Q once again found it difficult to focus on what was in front of him. This time he turned his chair around to face the agent. “You'll be curious every time we call you in for testing, I suppose,” he said with a smirk.  

Bond stopped moving only when he’d stepped into the spot directly in front of Q’s chair. “I'm already curious every time you call me for anything.”

Q raised an eyebrow and leaned forward slightly in his chair. “Is that so?”

Bond stood his ground, revelling in the proximity of Q. It had been some time since they’d shared space. “Of course. It's my job to be curious.”

“Here I thought it was mine,” Q replied with a sly smile. He hadn’t realised how badly he needed this sort of banter tonight, and he suddenly felt far less invested in the project he’d been working on and much more interested in seeing how long he could keep Bond around Q Branch.

“It’s that as well, which is much of what makes you so interesting. The things you are curious about…” Bond slipped his hands in his pockets to keep them from reaching out to touch.

Q’s eyes drifted down Bond’s body until he caught himself and looked away. “I'm curious about quite a lot,” he said. “That’s certainly true.” He wet his lips and leaned back slightly in the chair before looking back up into Bond’s eyes. “I’m especially curious about what exactly brought you to Q Branch at this time of night. There can’t be much for you to do here.”

Bond had no reason to feel guilty but just managed to keep himself from clearing his throat. He stepped to the side and leaned against Q’s desk, noticing for the first time what he’d been working on. “Except to look over your shoulder…”

Q swiveled his chair so that he was still facing Bond. “I’m afraid this little gadget almost isn’t worth looking over my shoulder, though you’re welcome to do it anyway. You know I do enjoy satisfying your curiosity when I can. Of course, it’s also fine if you’re only checking up on me.” Q couldn’t help the pleased smile that crossed his face as he spoke.

“I was just passing after target practice and saw your light on. Thought I’d pop in and make sure they weren’t working you to death.” He reflected Q’s smile back at him. “So what is this all-important project, anyway?”

“This?” Q gestured toward the pieces that were laid out carefully on his desk. “It’s a bug. A wire. But it has GPS and records both crystal clear audio and wide angle, high definition video, transmitting all information to our servers via wifi and/or 4G network, whichever is available. Encrypted and bounced through at least 17 relay points, of course.”

“But that's the size of a fly's head.” Bond peered close in at the tiny components, his head hovering near Q's shoulder, his finger pointing at, but staying well away from, the parts.

“The whole unit will be the size of a horsefly when fully assembled, recorders and transmitters included.”

Bond looked at Q in disbelief. “An extremely high-end bug the size of a bug. You're pulling my leg.”

Q laughed, enjoying Bond’s wonder and curiosity at the bits of metal, wire, and component parts on the desk. “No, I promise you it’s completely legitimate. A true bug’s bug.”

“But Q, that's absurd. You deal in fictions. Science fiction.” Bond leaned back only slightly, still focused on Q’s face instead of the bug.

“If you'd like to sit with me for the rest of the night, I'm sure I can explain the technology to you,” Q said, pointing to a bound copy of the proposal that outlined the workings of the device. “All truths, of course. But I’d rather you simply take my word on it.”

“I don't understand it, you seem so down to earth, so grounded and sure of yourself, and yet you come up with the most obscenely high tech things that by rights shouldn't exist. It inspires both extreme cynicism and blind faith in me.” The edges around his look of awe took on the shine of a winning smile.

“I take that as a compliment coming from you,” Q said, mirroring Bond’s smile.

“I meant it as such, absolutely. And if you would truly like company all night, I’ve got nowhere to be. May I?” Bond’s smile didn’t leave his face as he raised his eyebrows for permission while swinging a rolling chair from a neighboring workstation to nudge up next to Q’s.  

“You're welcome to sit, though I can't promise I'll be much fun.” Q looked down at the components and over at his clock, bored with the thought of doing anything resembling work at the moment. “Actually, I’m due for a break now. Just let me put my tools away and you can have my undivided attention. If you’d like?” He stood from his chair and stretched his arms above his head.

Bond drank in the curve of Q’s spine for a moment before speaking. “I would like nothing better. But don't tell me it's time for more tea? Maybe I shouldn't get too comfortable just yet…” He divested himself of his suit jacket but decided against seating himself in the purloined chair.

“It's always time for more tea,” Q said as he carefully placed some of his more delicate tools in their proper place in his kit. “I thought you’d have learned that about me.” He glanced up and made eye contact with Bond.

Bond’s held the gaze steadily with a faint smile on his lips. “That's why I mentioned it.”

Q closed his tool kit and quickly cleared away the rest of his work. “Right. Of course.”  

Bond didn’t move or avert his eyes from Q’s face while he cleaned up. “Every 90 minutes.”

Q stopped what he was doing and took the time to look up and lean subtly toward Bond. “You pay close attention,” he said.

“A skill I enjoy using on you, as you're interesting enough to warrant it.”

Feeling a blush spread over his cheeks, Q stooped down to open his bottom drawer and hide his face from Bond’s gaze. “Tea, then.”

“Yes. Please.” Bond had registered Q’s embarrassment and scaled back the intensity of his attention while amping up the warmth in his voice.

“I actually keep an electric kettle below my desk for my evenings here,” Q said, popping up with the kettle in his hand.

“I wondered.”  Bond extended his hand. “Shall I fill it? Give it here.”

Q handed the kettle over and thanked Bond, using the time it took to fill the kettle to straighten out his clothes and run a hand through his unruly hair.

Bond’s absence from the room was short and he entered speaking. “Do you have a second mug or will I have to filch one from another desk?” He set the kettle on Q’s workstation then leaned against the edge of it close to where Q was standing.

“I have--ah--an embarrassment of mugs, actually,” Q said, opening a desk drawer to reveal 8 mugs and a stash of loose and bagged teas.

“Oh, ha. Yes I see.” Bond leaned in more than was strictly necessary to look into the drawer. “As long as they don't all have Qs on them, there is nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Q laughed. “Oh, certainly not. That’s my only Q mug,” he gestured to the empty mug on his desk.

But Bond’s eyes were on the tea assortment. “So you do drink something other than earl grey, then?”

“Sometimes,” he replied. “Occasionally I like to have a good breakfast tea, or just an ordinary cuppa PG Tips. I also have some lapsang in a tin that I break out for special occasions.” He picked up the small green tin and shook it. “Though you're right, earl grey is my go to.” As he said it, he picked up a larger bag and held it up to his face, inhaling deeply before setting the tea on his desk with a smile.

Bond sidled closer. “I'd be surprised if you veered from your favourite often, you smell of it. It has permeated you. Unless you use bergamot soap or scent…”

“Well. I do, actually,” Q said somewhat sheepishly.

Bond went so far as to actually invade Q’s personal space and inhale deeply, smiling on the exhale.  

Q chuckled at the invasion, reveling in Bond’s momentary closeness. “Bond! Did you just smell me?”

The mirth in Q’s voice held Bond in its circle of warmth, making him unable to back away. “What? It's a nice, clean scent.” He sniffed the air around Q again. “Besides, one doesn't wear scent unless one wants it to be smelled.”

Q shook his head at Bond, but was charmed by the warm smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes. “Well if that’s so, then I’m glad you approve,” he said. Though it was unusual for him to blush at all, he felt warmth flushing his cheeks yet again. This time he didn’t bother trying to hide it.

Q’s blush was so pretty Bond had to fight to keep himself from burying his face in it. He focused on the conversational cues instead of the sensory ones, if only to stay upright. “Certainly, it can't only be for oneself, as one’s nose gets used to any permanent scent quickly. You must know this.”

Q nodded.“At this point I wear it mostly for the first few moments after putting it on. It doesn’t detract from my enjoyment of the smell of a nice mug of earl grey, even when the scent is still fresh on my skin.”

“Of course. I'm certain there are things I smell like that I'd not notice because they are so familiar to me, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t pay attention to them if their scent were present in a room.”

His curiosity piqued, Q leaned in closer and inhaled Bond’s scent. He hummed thoughtfully and wet his lips, then sniffed at Bond again, this time a bit closer.

Bond couldn’t hide his smirk at how obvious Q was being, as if that excused how close his face was to Bond’s shoulder. A chuckle escaped him at what they must look like before he could suppress the image.

Q leaned back a bit at Bond’s laugh, but decided to continue nonetheless. “You smell a bit of gunpowder and a clean sweat right now, which makes sense considering you were just at the range. But there’s something else, too.” Placing his hand on Bond’s shoulder, Q leaned in toward Bond’s neck and inhaled once more, his nose almost touching Bond’s collar.

The phantom of Q’s touch, the heat radiating off his flesh, had Bond on alert and wanting to simultaneously pull away and lean into it. He managed to stay still somehow.

Q pulled back, but left his hand on Bond’s shoulder, enjoying the slight tension he’d felt as he’d leaned in. “I'm not sure how it's possible, but you have a definite leather undertone,” he said.

Bond continued to stand still, turning his head only slightly to catch Q’s eye with the corner of his own. “Why wouldn't it be possible?”

“I've never seen you in a leather jacket,” Q replied.

Bond’s mouth crooked into a slow smile on one side. “My car has leather seats, my sofa is leather, I keep my shoes well polished, and didn't you know I ride a motorcycle?” His face couldn’t hide his amusement at Q’s surprise. “I have leathers for it in my locker in the gym.”

Flustered at the thought of Bond in full leathers, sitting astride a motorcycle, Q was barely able to stammer out a response. “Oh, of course. The leather makes sense then, doesn’t it?”

For a moment Bond thought Q was going to back away, so he stowed his grin and changed tack slightly. “Unless of course you meant that you smelled the fragrance 'English Leather' which I also use. But in soap form.”

Q didn’t try to hide his amusement, laughing momentarily at the notion of a leather-clad Bond holding a bar of English Leather and smiling cheekily. “No, I didn't mean that,” he said. “Though perhaps I just didn't lean in close enough to catch that particular scent.” He raised an expectant eyebrow at Bond.

“Well, by all means…” Bond caught Q’s hint -- given it was exactly where he’d been aiming the conversation -- and craned his neck to make for easy access.

Q’s breath hitched at the sight before him, and he leaned in once again.

Bond’s eyes crowsfooted in amusement and delight at Q’s response. And at his closeness.

The expanse of Bond’s neck laid out before him was a delicious sight, and Q allowed himself to indulge in it before he moved close enough to let his nose graze Bond’s flesh. He inhaled once, twice, and finally a third time, exhaling warm breath over Bond’s neck, wanting to draw closer and taste Bond’s skin, but restraining himself instead. “Yes, there it is,” he breathed before backing away. “English Leather.”

Bond, eyes closed to better concentrate on the engulfing heat and scent off Q’s skin, shivered slightly with every exhale that raked over his neck, and then again when the warmth of Q’s body drew away and the chill of the room brought gooseflesh up on his skin.

Q bit his lip and tried to think of something that wouldn’t entirely kill the moment they’d just had. When nothing came immediately to mind, he instead blurted out, “wasn't it time for tea?”

Bond had a hard time pulling himself away from the sensuality of the moment to respond. His eyes squinted at Q as if he were far away. “Tea? Oh...I forgot to plug in the kettle.” He had to consciously keep himself from touching his neck where Q had just been so as to ground the ghost of the sensation. It still buzzed on his skin. “Here, I'll do it now. It'll boil in no time.” He was slow to move away to start the kettle.

“Right…” Q replied absentmindedly, silently chastising himself for breaking their closeness so abruptly and his head full with all the choices he could have made to keep Bond close.

Bond didn’t turn around to face Q right away, opting to take a moment and bring himself back to a civil conversation with a coworker over tea instead of the decidedly not safe for work places his mind had gone with Q’s hot breath on his neck. He cracked his neck and settled his shoulders while staring at the tea kettle, willing his body back to calm.

Q bent down to look at his tea selection again. “Which type did you say you wanted?” he asked distractedly.

“I didn't.” Calm wasn’t coming to him and he had to suppress a growl at the frustration that had built in his gut. He didn’t trust himself to turn around yet.

“Oh. of course,” Q replied. His body was aching to return to the moment he’d shared with Bond and willing his mind to figure a way to make it happen. He shook his head to try to bring himself back to the present.

Bond suppressed a sigh and found his benign, patient voice to bide time until his emotions actually matched how he sounded. “Whichever you’d hate to part with least. If there's no milk or sugar I won't drink for taste.”

“Maybe the PG Tips, then,” Q said with a sigh, picking up the box to fish out a couple of tea bags.

“That's fine.” Bond concentrated on the sound of the kettle, how it got quiet right before it boiled because the water molecules weren’t bouncing against each other anymore, but were changing phase into steam. He exhaled slowly as the mouth of the kettle started to fog and found his equilibrium in the absurdity of his resemblance to it.

Finally coming back to himself completely, Q recognized Bond’s tension and wished that instead of tea, he had a good stiff drink to offer the other man. He never really drank on the job, but he knew plenty of people did. Looking back at his tea collection, an idea formed. Q picked up the little tin of lapsang and opened it, inhaling its deep, smoky aroma. “Bond, you don't happen to have any whisky in your desk, do you?” Excitement crept into his voice as he turned around, mischievous grin on his face.

Bond finally trusted himself to turn around, and was startled enough by the question that it caused him to smirk as he caught sight of Q. “Not in my desk, on my hip.”

Q barely stifled a giggle. “Oh, brilliant,” he said, turning back to his desk to extract his paper tea filters.

“Are we having toddies now?” Bond couldn’t help drifting closer to see what Q was up to. Not at all to chase his warmth or his scent. Definitely not that.

“The lapsang is quite good with a splash of whisky,” Q said, measuring a bit of tea into two separate filters. “They say that's how Churchill used to take it.” He cast a glance over his shoulder, glad to see that Bond was being very slowly lured back to him.

Bond didn’t even attempt to hide the deepening of his smirk and a small shake of his head as he reached into his pocket for his flask. “You are amazing.”

“Me?” Q asked with mock humility. “Well, yes…” He dropped each tea sachet into a mug and turned around to face Bond fully.

Bond stalked closer to Q, leaning a hip against the desk and facing him, just a foot and a half away. “The devil's in the details, and you have every one in your back pocket.”

Q shook his head with a smile. “Not in my back pocket, but right up here,” he said, tapping lightly against his temple before running his hand through his hair. As Bond drew closer, Q felt his desire to up the ante of their flirtation rising. “Where do you keep yours?” he asked. “Your devil, I mean.” He licked his lips and gave Bond a smile.

“Ha.” Bond watched Q’s mouth hungrily but reined in his reaction and waited to see what Q would allow this time.

“Or your details if you prefer…” Q shrugged, but raised an eyebrow provocatively, willing Bond to come closer but not entirely sure how best to convey that without being completely transparent.

Bond’s face broke into a smile at the suggestive nature of Q’s statement but didn’t want to take advantage of something that might not have been meant as an opening. Somehow with Q he could never quite tell. “Touche, luv. You _are_ good.”

“I've been saving it up,” Q said with a smirk. He turned back to grab the mugs, walking them over to the kettle and carefully pouring the hot water into them.  

Bond followed Q’s movements with his eyes, but didn’t move from his spot. “But if you can't work that out, I'll have to keep the whiskey back, as it would clearly cloud your intellect for whatever you are working on.” He dropped his voice to a more conspiratorial tone. “Or maybe you should just call it a night and let loose a bit.”

“It’s true that working on fine details all day and into the night doesn't allow me much play time. And I have been at this current project for far too long today.” Q walked toward the desk that Bond was leaning against and placed the mugs down next to him. “So perhaps you’re right, Bond. Consider the night called.” Q settled his hand on Bond’s arm momentarily, but thought better of it and broke contact, letting his hand slide away gently.

Bond let his gaze rest on Q’s hand as he spoke. “They should let you off the leash more often. You'll get rusty. And then where will I be?” Bond remembered the flask in his hand and interrupted himself. “Here, how long does this lapsang take to steep? Is it ready for the whisky yet?”

Q gave each mug a swirl and inhaled the woodsy aroma of the tea. “Oh, it's ready. It can steep quite a long time, but it's just as good with less,” he said.

Bond opened the flask and leaned over to drop a healthy dollop of whisky into each mug. Then he took hold of the one without the ‘Q’ on it and held it up. “Cheers, then.”

Q nodded, taking his mug and raising it to toast with Bond. “To late nights,” he said with a smile.

Bond made their mugs clink cheerily and winked. “I'll drink to that.” They both tasted their spiked tea. “But you didn't answer my question.”

“Where would you be without me?” Q asked.

Bond nodded and took another sip of his toddy.

Q leaned against the desk, body open toward Bond. “Where indeed? Still here, but missing your precious Quartermaster, I’m afraid.” He raised his eyebrows and gave Bond a look of playful sadness.

Bond’s face grinned, then went into mock shock. “Oh! Don't say it! I couldn’t stand such a thing.” He went so far as to put his hand on his heart for maximum flattery. “Besides, the entirety of MI6 would fall apart in a month's time.” He caught Q’s grin with his own, then leaned in as he narrowed his eyes. “And I imagine it wouldn't be all from neglect, either. You'd booby trap your secret stuff, wouldn't you?”

Feigning shock, Q shook his head. “You overestimate me on all counts,” he said, not backing away from Bond’s closeness.

Bond’s grin went feral. “Never.”

Q leaned in, voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Except the booby traps,” he said. He was close enough that he could feel Bond’s warmth, and he chose not to move just yet.

Bond stilled himself completely, hoping not to break the spell of Q’s closeness. “Hm.”

Q trailed his index finger up the length of Bond’s arm, eyes on the other man’s neck and mind wandering back to earlier in the evening. “I'd leave my mark, to be sure,” he said, voice still low.

Bond’s eyebrow crept up at the touch. He matched Q’s volume when he spoke, given their proximity. “What does your mark look like, then?” Q’s head tilted slightly as he envisioned it, and his eyes moved slowly from Bond’s neck to meet his gaze. “Well, it looks something like this,” Q said, drawing an elaborate cursive Q in the air with his left hand and allowing his body to shift subtly closer to Bond’s.

“Ah.” Bond’s single syllable was less a response to Q’s mark and more to the new closeness of their bodies.

“Only it's made from fine wires that thread through every piece of equipment in all of MI6 so that if I go, everything goes,” Q said, nudging Bond’s shoulder with his own but letting the touch linger. “What do you have to say to that?”

“That it sounds both gorgeous and dangerous. Which makes perfect sense for you.” Bond took a sip of his toddy and licked his lips as a slow smile spread across them.

Q took a sip of his own drink and enjoyed the warmth that spread through his body as he swallowed. “What about you? What's your mark look like?”

“Like this.” It must have been the hot whisky hitting his empty stomach that had Bond moving before he thought about how his response would be taken.

He stripped off his dress shirt and bared his back to reveal the fact that one shoulder blade sported a tattoo which covered the scar tissue from a long-range rifle calibre exit wound. The ink was in the shape of a calligraphic capital ‘m’, stylised to look like the queen’s crown.

Q frowned, reaching out to touch Bond’s shoulder before even thinking about whether or not the action might be acceptable. He stopped himself with his fingers hovering above Bond’s skin, letting his hand drop. “Christ, Bond. It’s...well, it’s gorgeous and dangerous, just like you.” His hand moved up again slowly. “May I touch it?” he asked tentatively.

“Go ahead.” For some reason he couldn’t name, he stopped breathing in anticipation of Q’s hand on his scar.

Q’s fingers touched down lightly, tracing first the line of the crown and then, slowly worrying at the raised scar tissue that was hidden beneath the dark ink. He moved slowly and carefully, envisioning the bullet that would have exited in this manner and doing the sort of background calculations that he couldn’t turn off even when he tried. He leaned in closer, letting out a breath as he did so. He was close enough now that he could easily press his lips to Bond’s shoulder, but he stopped himself short. “Was this from...a recent incident?” He couldn’t bring himself to talk about the time before he’d known Bond, even if he knew it had to have come from that time.

Bond’s face was paused halfway between a grin and a grimace. “That was Eve Moneypenny’s bullet. The shot M ordered to be taken.”

“Right, of course.” Q was still poised over the mark, his hand resting beside Bond’s neck and their bodies close enough that he felt every ounce of tension and desire for release that the other man was carrying. He moved his hand slowly back to cover Bond’s scar, then pushed himself very gently away.

At the loss of Q’s touch, Bond exhaled quickly -- not quite a sigh -- and pulled on his shirt again, shivering as the cooled fabric touched his hot skin. He’d gone too far, and to a morbid place. There was no good way of saving the moment. He put on his jacket before turning to look at Q.

Q cleared his throat and took a sip of tea, forgetting for a moment that it was lapsang with whiskey and not just his typical earl grey. He swallowed hard and let the burn slide down his throat before looking up into Bond’s eyes.

“How long have--”

“I should really--”

They both stopped when they heard the other speaking.

“Sorry,” Q said with a shake of his head. “I was just going to ask how long you’ve had the tattoo.”

“Since the day of Her funeral.” Bond looked anywhere but at Q. “I should really get home.”

“Right,” Q said, staring into his mug of tea. “Been a long day. I’ll tidy up here.” He turned and set his mug down quietly, then pulled out his mobile phone and began mindlessly thumbing through emails as if he had a purpose in looking at them. “Suppose I’ll see you around. Have a good night, Bond,” he said without making any eye contact with the other man.

Bond’s self-preservatory closedness turned directly into anger at Q’s dismissal. He swallowed it down, knowing it was his own fault. “You too, Q.” Bond gulped down the last of his tea and set the mug, not so gently, next to Q’s. Then he stalked off.

Q waited for the sound of Bond’s footsteps to fade away before he allowed himself to collapse into the nearest office chair and swallow down the last of his tea. He took his glasses off and pressed his palms against his eyes until he saw spots, appreciating the darkness and the dancing light until it lulled him to sleep.


End file.
